Free The Fame Thief by Timothy Hallinan Page B

said, “Or Albany.” Debbie’s smile slipped, and I said, “She and I are still discussing it.”
    “I don’t always tell the truth,” Ronnie said.
    “And you think she might be your daughter why?” I said.
    “She says she is. And she’s about the right age.”
    “And part three of the question. Why would she want to kill you?”
    Debbie shook her head, and her hair bounced adorably. “I didn’t say she did. I said I wanted to
find out
if she did.”
    “Why would you think—”
    “Not important,” Debbie said. “Drop it.”
    “Nothing about the reason might help me?”
    “I don’t know. For now, let’s just save it for later. If I actually need to tell you.”
    I decided to let it pass. “How many people do you want me to talk to in Las Vegas?”
    She sat back. This was more comfortable territory. “Four. All women.”
    “I’ll need names and addresses, numbers, all that stuff.”
    “I have to talk to them first. They’re not in the business, but they’re not exactly not in the business, either. Or at least two of them aren’t.”
    “I don’t care if they make socks out of kittens,” I said. “I just need to talk to them.”
    “They don’t need to know much about me,” Debbie said. “Two know better than to ask certain kinds of questions, but the ones who do ask, well, stiff them as much as you can. So you’ll go? To Vegas?”
    “Sure,” I said. “I have to go anyway.”
    Ronnie said, lighting up like a spotlight, “We’re going to Vegas?”
    “No, I am.”
    “You don’t have to take that kind of talk,” Debbie said to Ronnie. She reached down into the bag and pulled out the littlegun again. “I’m just going to load this so I’ll be comfortable on my way out. Don’t let it bother you.”
    “Before you put in the bullets,” Ronnie said, “don’t tell me what kind of talk to take or not take, okay? This relationship may not look perfect to you, but I’m a long way from finished.”
    I said, “Finished?”
    “With changing you.”
    “Good luck with that,” Debbie said, sliding the magazine in with a decisive
click
. “I’ve tried, but it never took.” She glanced up and caught Ronnie’s stare. “Not with Junior honey, relax.”
    “Put the gun away, now,” I said. I waited until she had. “Let’s get the details straight. I’m going to find out whether someone is looking for you and who she might be, and I’ll give you the information you need to decide whether it’s your daughter or not, if I can. As to what her motives are, I don’t read minds. I’ll ask you for more money when and as I need it, but the minimum you’re going to pay me, if I find her, is twelve thousand five. The maximum could be double that.”
    Debbie said, “Jiminy.”
    “If I don’t get enough information for a positive identification, you don’t pay me beyond ten thousand.”
    Debbie thought about it for a moment, her eyes wandering the room, lingering on some of its odder features, of which there were many. “Okay,” she said.
    “Good. How do I get in touch with you?”
    “I’ll leave you a card. It’s got phone, email, Facebook.”
    Ronnie said, “Facebook?”
    “Sure,” Debbie said. “Killers need friends, too.”
    Five minutes later , Ronnie said, “God. I thought she’d never leave. At least, not with both of us still alive.”
    “Changing me, huh?”
    “Well, I am,” she said. “One stubborn little atom at a time.”
    “What’s wrong with me?”
    “Puh
leeeeze
. Planning to go to Vegas without me? Hit-women dropping in at all hours? Living in this pop-up porno book of a motel? Where should I start?”
    I wiggled my eyebrows at the enormous pink bed. “How about there?”
    She pushed her foot against the carpet, setting the contraption in which she was sitting on a long slow swing back and forth. “How about the Death Chair?”
    “How about a narrowly missed pelvic fracture?”
    She pushed again, and the ceiling creaked. “I’m not worth a